Five
by JasJasJas
Summary: Ever wondered what life is like back home for tributes before the games?
1. Chapter 1

I clutch my brother to my shaking chest as the beam of light sweeps just past us. _So close, _I think_, so close_. Note to self: Be more careful. It's not just you that will have to deal with the repercussions. Kneeling down, I look directly at my brother, John.

'Are you okay? Did you get hurt?' He doesn't answer.

'We're almost there. We're almost safe.' He doesn't look back at me. He looks in my direction, sure, but he doesn't look _at_ me; he looks straight through me without _seeing_ me. He hasn't looked at me for a long time.

I take his hand as I straighten back upright, listening for noises. If only he weren't with me, I could have gotten to the storage unit and back again with no hassle. _If only, if only, if only. _Wishes won't help me now, they won't help us survive. You can't live on wishes but oh, if you could; I'd wish myself right out of this dump, out of District Five and to a place where I don't have to steal every day of my life.

We stand in the shadows for a few more moments waiting. Then finally, we get our cue; A door opens across the path and just above where we are standing and a Peacekeeper, dressed in his regular uniform, clumsily stumbles out. I recognise him from previous late night raids. Mid forties, with salt and pepper hair and a limp to his stride, he has never been one for the chase. Despite his big size, he's severely out of shape; those of us at school who dare to speculate about it assume that he's there to invoke fear in the weakest and most vulnerable of us. _Beware of the bear._ The blank look on his face suggests that you could walk straight past him with an armload of provisions and he wouldn't notice. He reminds me of John.

I know that as soon as he rounds the corner, we have roughly ten seconds to dart across the pathway and into the gap between the butchers and the badly disguised hideout(Which pretends to be a pawnbrokers) that the Peacekeeper just exited before the flashlights make their next sweep. Gathering up all of my strength and tightening my grip on John's hand, I look again into his eyes and search for any sign of fear. There's nothing.

"Are you ready?" I ask him. I take his silence as a yes and pull us as fast as I can into the open air, exposing us to anyone who may be watching. We're like animals as we surge forward, pushing as fast and quietly as we can. As sly as a pair of foxes slinking away with their prize. We're so close to making it that I can almost smell the bittersweet scent of home, hear the shouts of my father and the screech of the whistles from the yard where my brother is playing...

But then I realise that the whistles aren't inside my head. The piercing noise is surrounding me from the darkness of the night. I whip my head to the origin of the sound, and find the peacekeeper I foolishly waved off as unobservant with his fat lips wrapped relentlessly around the whistle calling for my capture. I turn my face skyward and discover that the whole of my body is bathed in the harsh white light we were trying desperately to avoid. It is then that I feel the emptiness of my hand, and look down to find it empty. Sick with fear, I cast my eyes desperately to our goal-the shadows of the buildings. I search the gap for John, the dread becoming too much to handle, when I notice the furtive glint of a familiar pair of amber eyes. As quickly as they appear, they're gone. I hear footsteps escaping down the alleyway.

How poetic; that's the first time he's looked at me in years, and it might be the last time I'll ever see him.

I vaguely remember handcuffs being snapped over my wrists, and being shoved carelessly down the streets. Voices shout over my head but I can't focus on what they're saying. Will John get caught? Will he be safe? Will he be chosen at the Reaping tomorrow? But I cannot dwell on these questions because I'm being taken through a door, and in my haze I almost don't notice the building I'm being taken into. The Justice building.


	2. Chapter 2

I sit at a new-looking desk already etched with deep scars. District Five's head Peacekeeper sits opposite me. His name is Artus, and he's was a friend of my fathers. He's trying to figure me out, get me to talk. I won't. He breaks the silence.

'Miss Layard, is it? Anya Layard?' He asks this as if he doesn't already know. I remain silent.

'Well, Anya, do you care to share with me why you were out of your house after curfew?' If you look closely, you can see that the scars make patterns and shapes.

'I was wondering if you could help us, Anya. A girl was seen in the storage unit just an hour ago, and she had a younger boy with her. The worker on duty says that the girl was collecting food; snapping crusts from bread, taking a handful of berries, a chunk of cheese. It turns out that this girl has been taking food for a while now, such meagre takings that at first we didn't notice. I don't suppose you'd know who this girl is, would you?' I have to tell myself to keep my eyes down, and not show any spark of emotion pass over my face. He leans forward and places his chin on one clenched fist.

'The worker also said that the girl had fire-red hair and sharp fox-like features. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but aren't these attributes you both share?' He watches me for a moment, then gets up from his chair and walks slowly around it. Crouching down beside me, he stares up at my face and I glance into his eyes. To my surprise the inquisitive look is gone and replaced with concern.

'Look, Anya, I can't help you if you don't talk,' he looks around the room, staring at the bare walls as if President Snow himself will come striding in, 'The worker was sleeping just before he saw you. We can pass it off as a dream if you just _let me help you_. You can go home and...' seeing the expression on my face, he lets his sentence trail off. He knows there's nothing left for me, not anymore. The walls hold no life, and it has been a long time since the house has held laughter. Artus straightens his long legs and crosses back to his seat just as another Peacekeeper comes into the room. He looks nervous.

'Sir? You have an important phone call on hold,' He catches his boss's gaze, '_very_ important.'

'Thank you,' Artus replies, his voice returning to its regular firm, authorative state 'So, Anya, I understand that it's a delicate time for you. I understand that you have nothing to do with the mishap in the storage room,' He looks from me to his colleague 'she was taking her little brother to visit their mother's grave before the reaping. I'm sure you remember the incident.' Of course he does. Everyone does. It's kind of hard to forget the screams of a twelve year old girl when she finds her mother lying crumpled on the floor surrounded by what was once live electrical wire. She short circuited the building. Our district takes care of electricity and my Mother earned her keep by fixing the broken generators. It turns out someone had forgotten to turn the one she was working on off. Or maybe they turned it on whilst she was in there. Either way, by the time I came across her charred, blackened body she was already gone. People were dragging me away as my body was racked with sobs, but I remember looking up and seeing my brother staring at her lifeless form. Just staring. That was the last time he properly looked and _saw_. It ruined him.

'So am I allowed to go?' I ask, preparing to leave. Artus gives me a curt nod. I try not to shake as I walk to the door and brush past the Peacekeeper still filling the frame.

'Anya?' I turn to see Artus staring at me once more. 'Tomorrow's a big day. May the odds be on your side'


	3. Chapter 3

As I trudge up the path to my house, I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that it takes me a while to notice the shaking little figure sitting on the doorstep. When John jumps up and flies towards me, I don't even hesitate before opening my arms and enveloping him safely inside them. His hiccupping cries make my heart ache. I bury my face in his soft brown hair and it's all I can do not to collapse against him. It feels like it's been a lifetime since I felt his bony little arms seeking comfort around my slim frame. It's the first time anyone's hugged me this way since the funeral.

I wait for a while until our tears slow down, and I go to say to him, _John, are you okay? _But I don't get the chance.

'Anya, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,' his words are cut off by another torrent of wailing. I run my fingers through his messy tufts of hair. It sticks up in the way that only kids hair does.

'I'm sorry,' He says again, 'I just never knew what to say.'

'I know, Johnny. I know' I murmur soothingly. If you speak too loudly to a shy animal, you might frighten it away. A few noiseless moments pass and I can only hear the sound of our ragged breathing.

'When Mum was lying there, I was so scared and I... I didn't know what to do. I thought I'd lost you too.'

'I know, John.'

'...Anya?'

'Yes?'

'Will I get chosen tomorrow? In the reaping?'

'Not if I can help it' I answer him truthfully.

He pulls away from me, smearing his hand over his eyes to absorb any tears. We look at each other for a moment, and then I continue up the path with him following behind me.

It's always a tense moment for us; opening the door, wondering which version of my father will be awaiting us. I walk in, and the stench of the house hits me full force. Despite my best efforts to keep it clean, it's hard to wash the ingrained scent of fear from our home. **He** is lying sprawled out on the sofa. Alcohol fumes hit the back of my throat and I have to fight the urge to gag. It's hard to see him through all of the food lying on top of him.

'We're home,' I call out. I hold my breath as I await his reply. I see the muscles in his body tense alarmingly. He stands slowly, his back to us, litter cascading from his unwashed body like water falling from a hunk of rock. I watch his feet come toward me. Left, right, left, right, until they come to a stop in front of me. I drag my eyes up his body; over the torn trousers, the stained shirt, and finally to his sharp face. I search for any sign of the father I once knew but I don't recognise these eyes. My Dad was the one who taught me how to ride a bike and how to laugh, but this man would sooner smash my head into a wall then show me a smile. He has a twitch in his eye. His hand shoots up lightning fast and I hear a whimper from behind me as I turn my head away to brace for the impact... only it doesn't come. I peek through my eyelashes and I see him standing there with his hand frozen in midair as if he's been put on pause.

But then I see his face and realise he's my Dad again, the one who liked nothing more then surprising my Mum with a bouquet of flowers and sneaking us chocolates after dinner.

'Dad?' I whisper, scared to move. His arm flops to his side. I reach out to try and touch him. 'Dad?' My voice is barely a whisper now. I'm at my most vulnerable, the air so thick with tension that I can taste it. But he walks away. He walks back to his pit on the sofa and slumps down. John and I watch him from the doorway.

'Get out.' Is all he says. Neither of us move. 'Get out!' He screams it this time, grabbing one of his bottles from the table next to him and hurling it at us full force. I scream and duck as it hits the space in the wall my head just vacated, and obliterates itself into a million unsalvageable pieces.

John grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs as fast as he can; even faster than when we were running from the Storage Unit earlier. He pulls me right into my room, I slam the door as hard as my shaking hands will allow and we fall into my bed, wrapped up tight, encased in the bond only family can share. We have each other. We'll be okay. We fall asleep to the lullaby of our Dad's weeping.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up frozen to the bone; John's taken all of the covers like he used to when we were kids, sharing a bed after a nightmare. I can tell by the light streaming in through my window that we've slept in longer than we should. Most of my friends at school will have been up since dawn, curling their hair, twisting it into elaborate styles on top of their heads, and selecting their best outfits. Not me; I couldn't care less about what the viewers think of me. 'Look Your Best', the Capitol say, but if you're not chosen then the cameras wont even glance at you, and if you are then you're dead anyway. I get up as quietly as I can as not to wake John on what could be our last morning sleeping at home. Tiptoeing down the stairs, I notice the eerie silence of our little district, one of the smallest of them all. Today is our districts only day off; District five has been charged with the duty of keeping the whole of Panem supplied with electricity, and since the annual bloodbath known as The Hunger Games is coming up soon, we've been working like a swarm of Tracker Jackers to horde enough for all of the districts. I miss the distant hum of the generators.

When I reach the Living room, I expect to see my father slouched in his usual spot, but he's not there. I restrain myself from searching the house for him, convinced that the longer I avoid him, the longer I can pretend I have a normal family life. However, John breaking his five year silence last night has given me the hope that I can restore things to the way they were.

I find myself in the kitchen looking through the supplies John managed to sneak away with after my capture. Thankfully we have enough for his favourite meal; egg and sausage with the soft, doughy bread that is a luxury for even the mayor. When I save up my tessarae, I can just about make bread similar to the loaf I have in front of me, but nothing really compares to this when it comes to taste. I always receive perplexed looks while collecting my rations; people must think I want to get reaped. They don't know why I apply as our family is richer than most others in the district, however they also don't know about my fathers love for forgetting the past and how he does so by squandering our money to keep his blood forever mingling with alcohol.

The sausages are turning brown, and I'm about to take them away from the heat and onto our chipped plates when I hear light, lazy footsteps plodding down the stairs. Too light to be my fathers. I smile, awaiting the eager grin that will fill my brother's face when he sees what I've prepared for him.

'I made your favourite,' I call out' Come and get it whilst it's still hot! You might want to get yourself a knife and...'

My words die in my throat. Looking at John, who is now standing in the doorway, I can see that something is different. Or should I say, I can see that something is the same. Looking over his face, I notice the uncaring line of his mouth, the slack set of his jaw, and the complete lack of recognition in his dull amber eyes which just last night were sparkling with buried character.

'John?' I try pointlessly. Without a word or even a glance at my face he walks over to where I am next to the counter and pulls his plate free from my grasp. I don't even try to stop him as he turns around and walks away from my slouching form. I _want_ to run for him and grab him by the shoulders, shake him and scream until he understands! I want to save him! I want to save us both! I want to fight for what we were, not what we've become.

Instead, I stare at the door he disappeared through as if it will spit out the happy kid brother I once knew. The one who would pick me flowers and call me names. I stare for so long that once I finally turn my attention back to my breakfast, the food is just a charred black mess. I dump the contents of the pan into the bin and slam the lid closed. There was nothing I could have done to fix it. I douse the flames and storm from the house to find a place where I can escape until the reaping.


	5. Chapter 5

Next thing I know, a pale white hand is waving frantically in front of my face. I look up to find that the hand belongs to a girl I sit with at school, Sophie. Her muscles are tense, her expression worried.

'Anya? What are you doing?! I've been looking everywhere for you. We were supposed to be walking to the square together, remember?'

No, I think to myself, but judging the events of the past few hours you can't blame me for forgetting.

Looking around where I'm sitting, I realise that I can't remember how I came to be sitting against a tree by the fence surrounding district five. Right on the other side of the fence, almost close enough to touch, is a lake. It's a cruel taunt from the capitol. If we could get to the lake, we could follow it and run away. Run far from here.

Here's your freedom, The Capitol says, but you can't take it. Sorry about that. Some of us don't even have clean water regularly, and there's running water _right there_. It's just another way for them to keep us under control. I'm good at solving puzzles, I'm sure I could figure out a way to get to the water if I only had more time, but I don't want to be even later to the reaping. The Peacekeepers will already have to drag my Father down to the square; I don't want to make it a family thing.

I stretch my arms out above my head, listening to the joints click. Using the trunk as support, I pull myself to my feet. As I look up, I realise that Sophie's talking to me.

'…smartest girl in the class, but apparently the laziest. Why can't you see how important it is to get to the reaping in time?'

'Look, Soph, I know. It's just that I've got a lot of...'

'Family problems right now?' She cuts in before I can finish, 'I know, but that no reason to look like…this.' She gestures to my clothes and I look down. There's mud from the ground coating my trousers, and I have splashes of oil from cooking our uneaten breakfast on my shirt. I pick at a clump of dirt gingerly. Sophie sighs.

'Look, I'm sorry, I really am, but if you don't hurry you'll get us both in trouble,' she says, digging around in her bag,' look, I figured you wouldn't have anything to wear, so I bought you this.'

She flicks her hands out, the cloth bundle unfurling into a dress; deep green with a rounded neck, and a band that pulls in the waist. The skirt falls in a sea of pleats, finishing close to the knees like waves hugging a shore. I reach out a finger and poke the fabric.

'A dress? You bought me a dress? A bit girly, isn't it?' I stutter.

'Just put it on! It's about time you started dressing like a lady.' She flings the dress at me and produces a comb from her bag,' here, let me do your hair.' She pulls away the hair band, making my red locks fall around my shoulder.

When she's finally finished twisting my hair, I actually look presentable. I look like my mother. Just as I begin to thank Sophie, we hear the warning bells chime. We're both late. She grabs hold of my hand and we start running to the town centre.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time we get signed in and taken to our area, it's obvious that the other kids have been waiting for us. We're in the section roped off for the sixteen year old girls, and from here I can see my brother waiting in the place reserved for twelve year old boys. The children surrounding him look scared, whipping their heads around to look for parents, brothers, sisters, but he sates ahead, his face blank as stone. Sophie sees me looking and takes my hand again. Her palm is sweating. She has brothers here, too, but they're older, and they already work shifts down in the mines when their father is ill. They can handle themselves. John can't. If I'm picked, there's no way I could win. I'm smart; if I find myself in a situation that would threaten my life, then I could easily solve the problem. I'm fast. I'm not strong, though, not at all, and I've never hit anyone before. I'm used to being beaten.

A sudden thudding noise sounding from the speakers beside me snaps me out of my trance. District five's escort, Cameron Leetster, has taken to the microphone.

'Welcome, citizens, welcome!' His booming Capitol accent rings loudly in our ears, 'I trust you are all eager to see which brave young man and woman we will be sending to represent District five in the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games!' He looks over the faces in the audience, expecting us to cheer. We stare at him in his ridiculous clothes, his stomach protruding from his waistband, and we stare in silence. After a moment he lowers his eyes and coughs, rubbing where the collar of his shirt meets his skin. 'Before we begin, we have a video to watch, courtesy of the capitol.'

It's the same video we see every year; it tells of how the thirteen districts of Panem rebelled against the capitol, and the fall of district thirteen. It shows of the honour that being victor brings to your district. It fails to show, however, how we have to murder a group of twenty-three other teenagers, though, to get the glory. I know all of the words off by heart. I choose instead to look at Cameron. This is his first year as escort, so it's the first time he' seen the districts. When he was first introduced to us, his eyes nearly popped straight from his head. He was shocked at our dirty skin, our ripped clothes and our sullen expressions. No one in the Capitol knows how it really is out here. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at his reddening face. He's not used to the sun. He's probably never worked a day in his life. It's twisted, but I enjoy watching him squirm like an ant under a magnifying glass. His hair is dyed a vivid red, which matches his velvet suit. How nice must it be to buy velvet. If he stands out here much longer, his face will begin to match.

All too soon, the film has finished. I clutch at Sophie's hand, my heart beginning to thud in my chest.

'Now, we've decided to do things a little differently this year,' Cameron says, crossing over to one of the giant glass balls on the podium, 'this year, we'll pick the male tribute first!' I look at John in horror, and everyone is now shuffling anxiously. That's not the way things work! The brother's prefer to volunteer to sacrifice themselves for their sisters, but they can't if they don't know if they'll be chosen. Cameron sticks a fat, swollen hand into the ball and swirls around his hand. He plucks at one of the pieces of paper, and unclasps the tape holding it together. I can't move, I can't breathe, all I can do is stare at Johnny and hope that it's not him, that I don't lose the only thing worth clinging to. My Dad will go spare, he'll blame me! I'll have to volunteer for him; I can't just sit by as he...

'Edward Grigori!' Cameron shouts excitedly. I almost faint with relief and feel a grin spread through my face. The joy is instantly replaced with guilt as the twelve year old boy standing next to my brother begins to splutter out a cry, tears already pouring from his eyes and landing on his shirt. His face is twisting as he gets pulled from the stands by peacekeepers and paraded up the steps. I hear a croaked scream as a girl behind me rushes to the rope and cries his name, clawing her way under it, running for the boy, but peacekeepers block her path. No matter ho hard she beats at them, she can't get past. She eventually thuds to her knees, her hands buried in her hair, not bothering to conceal her face as she gasps her brother's name over and over. Cameron starts talking over the top of her, and I look at the boy standing on the stage looking at his sister. His shirt is un-tucked and he's hiccupping loudly. I'm about to go over to the girl on the floor when I look up to Sophie, and see that she's staring at me, her face completely white.

'Sophie? What's wrong?' I trail off as I notice that everyone in the stands is looking at us, some with their hands to their faces. They're trying to conceal their relief, I realise. I notice Cameron with a new slip in his hand, looking at us expectantly. Suddenly her paleness makes sense. They must have called her name. I pull her tight to my chest and start telling her that she'll be okay, everything will be okay, but she pulls back and stares at me in confusion.

'But he didn't call my name, Anya; he called yours.'

I freeze, processing her words. It can't be true, they must have made a mistake. My eyes flit from her face to those who are staring at me.

'Anya Layard? Are you out there?' Cameron Leetster calls again. My mouth starts to form words, but no sounds come out. I walk backward, shaking my head, wishing this away. I hit something solid, and whip around to see a face I know: It's Artus, his jaw clenched, trying to remain professional, but I can see the pity etched deep in the lines of his face. He's certain that this was no coincidence. This is revenge for all of the stolen food. Like the boy chosen before me, I too am pushed up the steps. Cameron asks for volunteers. I look over at the faces before me, but none of the eyes meet mine. Not even Sophie's. As they take us into the justice building I wonder if she'll even visit me.

I wait.

I don't know what I'm waiting for. I could be waiting for a visitor, but I could be waiting to be taken to the Capitol. I watch the hand of the clock slowly creep round. I wonder how many people will go and see Edward. I'm certain his sister will. The door handle turns, and I stand, waiting to see who it is. My stomach drops when I realise it's a peacekeeper. It's Artus. For a moment we stare each other down.

'Are you here to take me away?' I ask. He shakes his head and opens his arms. I look at him wearily, but I eventually fall into him. His beard tickles the top of my head, his rough hand brushing back hair. Is this what having a father really feels like.

'I have something for you, your father dropped it off,' he says, reaching into his pocket.

'He what? Isn't he coming?' Artus looks at me.

'Did you expect anything different? Here,' he places a silver bracelet into my hand,' he said it was your mother's'.

I lightly touch the bracelet in my hand, feeling the delicate links of chain. There's a red gem dangling from the clasp. Artus helps me fasten it. He hold on to my wrist and looks at me.

'You're fast, Anya, and you're smart. You can do this. Do it for me. Do it for your Mother. Do it for John.' He hugs me once more. 'Your mother would be so proud of you.' He whispers into my hair. 'When you're at the cornucopia, run. Just get as far away as you can. Outsmart them.' He gives me one last look. In our last few moments, he calls me by a name he used at a time when we were closer.

'You can do this, Foxface, I know you can.' They're the last words I hear before I'm taken away.


End file.
